


we should be lovers

by stilinskisparkles



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Casual hook ups, Developing Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:04:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7600951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisparkles/pseuds/stilinskisparkles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re both more frantic this time, and Derek hopes it’s in part because Stiles has been thinking about him just as much as Derek’s been thinking of Stiles. He doesn’t want it just to be because they’re drunk, or because the party’s mostly a bust. And, if it is, he’s determined to make it about him. He wants Stiles to remember <i>him</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we should be lovers

The first time it happens, it's almost over before Derek has time to save it all to memory. It's like a bolt of lightning; a flash of wonderful, breathtaking excitement before he could realize what was happening. All he knows is that Stiles (Derek had to ask him to repeat his name,  _twice_ ), was wearing extremely tight, extremely flattering jeans, and he spent the entire evening looking at Derek. Their eyes would meet and he’d smirk, take a sip of his beer, look away, make Derek want him to cast another glance his way. 

So, he’d done what he did best, and hovered in the corner, nodding along to whatever anecdote Erica was shouting in his ear, and kept one eye on Stiles. Eventually, when Erica abandoned him to start up a slow grind with Boyd in the living room, Stiles had sauntered over. 

“Your girlfriend looks like she’s having fun.”

Derek had snorted, shaken his head, “Not my girlfriend.”

“Huh,” Stiles had held his eye, the twitch of a smile on his lips, “So, you’re single and ready to mingle?”

“Not exactly.”

“Oh?”

“I’m not a fan of mingling.”

“Single, but a hermit?”

“Pretty much.”

Stiles had given him a purposeful once over, drained the last of his beer, “You feel like comin’ out of your shell for the night?”

Derek laughed, “Do lines like that ever work?”

“Nope, but you gotta keep trying, right?”

“Sure.”

Stiles had grinned, then– full on and beautiful– taken Derek’s breath away, too.

“I’m Stiles.”

“You’re who?”

“Stiles, shut up, it’s a nickname.”

“I was only checking I’d heard you right.”

“Yeah, yeah, and what do I call you? Left me high and dry due to lack of interest, or—”

“I’m Derek,” Derek had interrupted, “Before you strain something.”

“Oh, I’m more than okay with straining something.”

Despite the cheesiness, despite the cheap beer in his hand and how very against he’d been about coming to the party in the first place, Derek was suddenly glad he was there. He’d laughed, and Stiles had leaned in closer, made Derek’s breath stutter again, and then pulled away with a smirk.

“So, you’re a student?”

“Wouldn’t be at a college party if I wasn’t.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stiles grinned impishly, “If I knew they all looked like you I’d probably at least pretend to be studying philosophy.”

“Philosophy?” Derek arched an eyebrow, “Really?”

“Sure, you know,” Stiles had waved a hand around, and Derek couldn’t help but watch his fingers fly through the air. They were long and elegant looking. “The stars, the earth, life, death…” He’d paused dramatically, smirked, “Sex.”

“I think you’re making philosophy sound like more fun than it is.”

“True,” Stiles had given him a slow, sultry smile, “Living it, instead of thinking about it sounds better, don’t you think?”

“I’m more of a thinker,” Derek had shrugged. “Don’t do very well with impulsive decisions. They tend to come back and bite me in the ass.”

Stiles had clutched a hand to his chest, “Not that I’m dismissing your previous experiences, but,” he’d smirked again, “I’d say your ass _is_ pretty biteable.”

Derek had choked on air, managed to snort in disbelief, “I’ve had my back to the wall this whole time.”

“Like I didn’t notice you the second you came in,” Stiles had shrugged, “I’m just saying.”

“You’re _very_ forward.”

“Yeah, well, I figure it’s put yourself out there and the worst that happens is you crash and burn terribly, go home and eat a pint of ice cream, or—”

“Or?”

Stiles had grinned, impish and enticing all at once, “Or, lucky strike with someone that’s interested and it works out well for everyone.”

Derek had decided he agreed, had grabbed his hand on impulse and tugged him towards the front door. As much as he wanted to find out what Stiles’ plush looking lips tasted like, he wasn’t willing to do it in Erica’s living room.

They’d tripped down the porch steps together, Stiles half strangling himself as he yanked on a battered hoodie he’d picked up from somewhere. Derek had stopped him in the driveway, pressed him up against Boyd’s truck and slowly pulled the sleeves down for him, straightened out his collar.

“Thanks,” Stiles had breathed out, “Prefer it if you got me out of this, though.”

Derek had laughed, “You really do have some terrible lines.”

“Hey, it’s working, so I’m doing something right.”

“Maybe I just have really low standards when it comes to pick up lines.”

“Then we are definitely a match well made—”

Derek had decided to be brave, leaned in and cut him off with a quick kiss.

Stiles had responded immediately, deepening the kiss with a sure, easy confidence as his hands slipped up to cup the sides of Derek’s neck. He’d dragged the back of his knuckles along Derek’s skin, made him feel weak at the knees.

They’d kissed until Derek’s lips were buzzing, and their breath was fast as it mingled between them. Stiles was a good kisser, dragged his lower lip between Derek’s, made him chase the kisses, crave them. He flexed his fingers against Stiles’ sides and made him shiver, cant into Derek and clutch at his shoulders tightly.

“Just out of curiosity,” Stiles panted, twisting to mouth just behind Derek’s ear. “You _are_ real, right?”

Derek had gone to laugh incredulously, and then felt his knees buckle as Stiles trailed his mouth ever so softly down the side of his neck, nipped at bare skin peeking from his sweater.

“Why would you even—”

“Normally, my game’s not strong enough to get somebody willing to put their hands up my shirt before I’ve even bought them a drink.”

Derek snorted, “We can call it going dutch, seeing as I didn’t buy you one, either.”

Stiles had pulled back, squinted at Derek in the dim shadows being cast from the street lamp. His eyes were wide and lovely, even in the artificial lighting, and Derek had lost himself in them for a moment.

“What _do_ you study?”

“You really want to talk, now?” Derek had squeezed his fingers tightly against Stiles’ hips, hoping to get his point across, and Stiles had laughed, pressed into him.

“So I remember in the morning. I can say, yeah, he was hot and he was a… so and so major.”

“What if I was just a janitor at the college?”

“Then I’d say, yeah, he was a really hot janitor with something against small talk.”

“Ancient history.”

“What, we are? Already? But, I haven’t even put out, yet!”

Derek had rolled his eyes, “ _Ha ha_.”

“Seriously,” Stiles wiggled his eyebrows, leant in close and kissed Derek quickly, “A serious _history major_ , oh my.”

“Be still your heart, right?”

“I dunno, there’s something pretty sexy about historians; the way they know everything about what everyone’s done—”

“That’s not exactly how it works.”

“—The tweed; the glasses.”

“I’m not wearing my glasses, and I don’t own any tweed.”

“Holy shit, but you do _actually_ have glasses?! Dude,” Stiles draped his arms around Derek’s neck, pulled him even closer, “You’re gonna have to wear them, next time.”

“Next time?”

“Uh huh.”

He’d kissed Derek again, and Derek was loath to do anything but fall into it. He liked the way Stiles kissed him, the way his hands danced across Derek’s face, or along his shoulders, like he could barely contain himself and had to always be moving. They were grinding slowly against one another, but his hands flew around like they couldn’t decide where they wanted to be most. It made Derek grin against his mouth.

“What?” Stiles had pulled away, narrowed his eyes at Derek. “You gonna lay a history joke on me?”

“Jokes? “ Derek pretends to shudder, “Don’t know any of those.”

Stiles had hummed suspiciously, and then grinned himself, brushed their noses together, “I bet you could think of one, if there was an incentive.”

“You’re pretty demanding for someone that was in such disbelief of their ability to win someone over a minute ago.”

“Hey,” Stiles had hunched up a shoulder, “What can I say, I’m a walking contradiction, and you, are full of fancy words for someone that’s not into small talk.”

“Match made,” Derek had echoed back to him.

Stiles had laughed again, kissed him slow and deep. Derek melted into it, was glad of the alcohol in his system making him bold, letting him give in to the desire to slide his hands up the back of Stiles’ hoodie, and sweep along his waist.

“Yeah,” Stiles had murmured, “You have nice hands.”

Derek had huffed a laugh, ducked to kiss his neck, “Thanks, I grew them myself.”

“Oh my god, you nerd,” Stiles had groaned, but he’d tipped his head back to give Derek more access, “I swear to god if it wasn’t freezing out here I’d be stripping off for you, right now.”

“Good to know what your weaknesses are,” Derek had mused, “Glasses, nerds—”

“Tall, handsome, _handsy_ ,” Stiles had added as Derek slipped his fingers down the back of his jeans.

“Complaining?”

“Nope.”

They’d been kissing on and off for so long, Derek had forgotten about the rest of the world. Everything had narrowed down to Stiles’ lips against his, warm and plush, slick with spit and inviting every time he paused to wet them with his tongue.

A motorbike had pulled up on the drive, though, and someone had jumped off, whistled and yelled Stiles’ name.

Stiles had pulled away, seemingly as reluctant as Derek had felt to let him go.

“Oh shit.”

“What?” Derek had frowned, felt his heart drop as the biker came towards them. He had hoped Stiles’ interest was sincere, not some trick to get a jealous boyfriend riled up.  

“It’s my pumpkin carriage,” Stiles had grabbed his hand and kissed it with a flourish, surprising Derek and making his heart jump.

“’S’been a pleasure, my handsome historian, but my bestie Scott's had a long day at work.”

The new guy had nodded, given Derek a still bright smile despite the tiredness written on his face. Derek managed a weak smile back, glad he wasn’t going to have to fight for someone he’d only just met—though, the urge had been strangely strong—and already missing the warmth of Stiles’ body as he moved away.

“Gotta jet,” Stiles had patted his own chest, pointed at Derek as he backed away, “See you around, Derek.”

Derek had nodded dumbly, watched him hop on the bike behind the driver, and then stood like a moron in the drive for much longer than he was willing to admit, watching them drive away.

He’d had swollen, warm lips for the rest of the night, and he’d gone to bed thinking of Stiles, wondering if he’d ever see him again.

*

The second time, they hook up in a garage. Derek is too relieved that Stiles wasn’t a glorious, unique mirage in the dry, boring, work orientated desert that was his life to even think of being coy.

Stiles had shown up at Isaac and Danny’s barbecue whilst Derek was on his third beer. It had been a slow night; Derek didn’t know anyone save Erica, Boyd and Isaac, and his awkward, shy nature left him ending more conversations with friendly strangers than keeping them going. Erica had made more than one face at him across the table, and he’d ended up drinking away the boredom and exasperation. It had made his stomach somersault when the gate had swung open and a group of newcomers had sailed in, Stiles in the middle of the crowd holding a six pack and wearing a bright yellow t-shirt.

Derek had wondered, briefly, if he’d been imagining him considering the beers and the fact their first hook up had felt so damn good and surreal. But, then their eyes had met, and Stiles had stuck his tongue between his teeth, squinted almost bashfully at Derek as he lifted a hand in greeting. He’d muttered something to one of his friends, and she’d turned— red hair blazing in the sinking sun— appraised Derek and then given him an approving look. There’d been some nudging and more mumbling between them, before Stiles had been cracking open a beer, sauntering over to sit beside Derek.

The smoke from the late night barbecue had made Stiles seem even more alluring, hazy and delicious looking. Derek took a moment to bask, to appreciate his handsome face and the hands he’d more than one fantasy about since they’d met as they wrapped themselves around the beer can.

“Enjoying a night off from books about old dudes screwing up the world?”

Derek had snorted, tipped his head back to grin stupidly at Stiles, “Something like that. I have an essay for next Friday, though.”

“Huh,” Stiles had scratched his jaw, “You need encouragement, or…” He’d glanced at Derek over his beer, smiled slowly, “A distraction?”

“A distraction,” Derek had said immediately, “Unless, you’re going to suggest a board game or going on the trampoline.”

Stiles laughed, and it was startling the way it made Derek’s insides jump, he wasn’t used to that, anymore.

“No, not that I have anything against the trampoline, because awesome, but I’m thinkin’ maybe you’ve had a little too much alcohol to be anything more than a safety hazard on that thing.”

“So,” Derek cocked his head, “You have a better idea?”

“Mhm.”

Stiles had gotten up, trailed his hand up Derek’s arm as he passed and disappeared into the dark of the backhouse. Derek hadn’t even bothered waiting a subtle amount of time before following. He was drunk, and he  _yearned_.

They’re both more frantic this time, and Derek hopes it’s in part because Stiles has been thinking about him just as much as Derek’s been thinking of Stiles. He doesn’t want it all to be because they’re drunk, or because the party’s mostly a bust. And, if it is, he’s determined to make it about him. He wants Stiles to remember _him_.

Stiles laughs into his mouth, sinks his hands into Derek’s hair, encourages him with swallowed up curse words and shoved hips, tightened elbows. Derek slides his hands down Stiles’ sides, and Stiles doesn’t stop him when he pushes down his jeans, only moans against Derek’s cheek and bites at his jaw.

He makes the sweetest noises when he’s close, sighs against Derek’s mouth as he comes, barely gets his hand around Derek before Derek’s coming, too.

They pant heavily together, after; the stagnant air of the garage now hot and humid with the smell of sex. It’s too dark to see properly, and Derek’s teetering on drunk; too sober to be brave enough to see if Stiles wants to see him in the daylight, to actually break the silence and ask him out; drunk enough to allow himself to stare. Stiles is _very_ attractive close up. His mouth is red and wet and inviting, and it’s all too easy to fall into kissing him again.

They make out like teenagers until Boyd comes looking for Derek, bangs audaciously on the door and yells that they’re headed out.

“That’s my ride,” Derek murmurs hoarsely.

“You should say that about me, sometime,” Stiles returns.

Derek snorts, straightens up off the wall and can’t help the bemused smile he gets when Stiles smooths down his jacket for him, leans in and kisses Derek quick before heading out back.

He sits in the car, still feeling the ghost of Stiles’ fingertips on his skin, and wishes he knew where Stiles would be going home to, or how to get in touch with him.

*

He sees Stiles, once, across the campus quad. There’s a flash of red hair and it catches his eye, makes him peer closer to see if he can spot Stiles. He’s got his back to Derek, but then he throws his head back and laughs, and even from a distance, even when it’s just his broad shoulders and the nape of his neck, it’s still a sight to see.

Derek doesn’t do crushes, these days. Not after his horrific break up with Kate, freshman year. He’s safer avoiding people. Stiles had seemed safe because of how easy it was, how freely he moved, talked, gave himself over to Derek for just a short amount of time. He didn’t seem like he was keen to get attached, and that had appealed to Derek.

Now, though, he’s the one watching Stiles disappear into the mass of students, and wondering why he doesn’t just stride after him and ask him out to coffee.

There’s a niggling worry in the back of his mind that it’s exactly _because_ of Stiles’ attitude. Someone as lovely and striking, filled with laughter and teasing, someone like Stiles, is not for the likes of Derek. Derek over analyses everything; he’s terse and impatient; argumentative on a good day and downright impossible on a bad one; he can’t see how that would be appealing to someone like Stiles.

It still doesn’t stop him wanting him, though.

*

The third time’s in a dingy classroom, up the corridor from the ball the college is hosting in celebration of fuck if Derek knows. All he’s interested in is the way Stiles backs him up against the desk, drops to his knees and sucks Derek off like he was made for it.

They’re supposed to be in masks, but Derek has to take his off to breathe, and Stiles knocks his own off impatiently, presses his face against Derek’s thigh and inhales deeply, before taking Derek’s dick back in his mouth.

It’s the best ball Derek’s ever been to, and he didn’t even have to dance. Stiles had sidled up behind him, only five minutes after Derek had reluctantly arrived—Erica half dragging him inside— and asked if Derek was interested in abandoning the formalities and getting straight to something a little more dirty.

Derek had snorted, told him his lines were as terrible as ever, but had taken the hand held out to him, and gone home smiling. Erica had poked his face several times suspiciously, crowed when he admitted he’d hooked up with Stiles again. She’d then given him a severely disappointed look when he’d shrugged off her asking why he didn’t have Stiles’ number still.

“He didn’t offer it.”

“You didn’t ask.”

“I don’t want to ruin a good thing, it’s fine, it’s casual.”

“You don’t do casual.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Yes, I do, sugar, I know you better than anyone. I also know you’ve got a hickey on the side of your neck you’re gonna need to cover up for Sunday brunch with your _mom_ , tomorrow.”

“Dammit.”

*

“So, what did you learn about history, this week?” Stiles asks as he strips off Derek’s over shirt, spreads his hands wide against Derek’s shoulders and tugs him close.

Derek smirks, “Nothing new.”

“Oh my _god_ ,” Stiles groans, bangs his head against the bathroom door, “You think that’s funny?!”

“Don’t need to be funny,” Derek retorts, hands slipping to Stiles’ belt.

“I’m not arguing that with your whole, you know,” Stiles waves a hand in Derek’s face, flicks his nose with a fond smile as he does so.

“My whole…”

“Everything,” Stiles continues, tone almost belying how he’s shaking a little, arching into Derek everywhere as they touch.

Derek takes a moment to feel equally smug and relieved it’s not just him that gets like this when they’re together. It’s like he’s coming out of his skin, desperate and needy in a way he hasn’t been since he first discovered the joys of jerking off in an empty house.

“What did _you_ learn, this week?” Derek asks, slipping to his knees and mouthing at Stiles’ hipbone.

“Umm, ummm.”

Derek tips his head back, cocks an eyebrow expectantly, “Stiles…”

“Fuck, d’you know it is _really_ difficult to think when you’re down there, you know.”

“Oh, I can just—” Derek goes to stand, and Stiles laughs raggedly, puts his hands on Derek’s shoulders and holds him in place.

“No, no, okay, fuck, I learnt the dangers of not looking up from your phone when you’re crossing the road.”

Derek tuts and Stiles lazily flips him off, drops his hand straight back to Derek’s shoulder.

“Shut up, it was just a little nudge. The car totally came off worse.”

“From—Stiles! A car actually hit you?!”

“It was barely moving, besides, it’s not that big a deal, I’m alive aren’t I?”

“You need to stay alive,” Derek huffs.

“Aw, you miss me if I was gone?” Stiles runs his knuckles along Derek’s cheek, and Derek leans into it for a moment.

Then he clears his throat, leans away from Stiles’ touch and lifts his eyebrows at Stiles’ _Simpsons_ underwear.

“I’m not sure I’d miss these.”

“Please, those are awesome,” Stiles tilts his hips towards Derek, wiggles his eyebrows, “And, you’re not even gonna be lookin’ at them in five seconds, anyway.”

“Five seconds? You sure about that?”

“Oh, fantastic, you’re competitive and I’ve accidentally challenged you,” Stiles grimaces, “Me and my mouth. Only I could actually talk myself out of getting head.”

Derek smirks slowly, takes his time peeling away the elastic band from his stomach.

“One,” he leans in, peppers kisses along the faint red line marking Stiles’ skin, “Two.”

He pushes the briefs down, hums when Stiles’ dick springs up, but ignores it in favour of grazing his teeth along the same marks. He likes that he’s leaving something of himself behind, something that’ll last longer than a couple of hours.

“Six.”

He bites a little harder, licks over the reddening skin when he’s finished, “Eleven.”

“Jesus,” Stiles groans, threads his fingers through Derek’s hair. “Alright, alright, I cave. Please, just…. I underestimated your patience, which is a total rookie mistake considering you’re a historian, and all you do is wait around on things happening and—ahhhhh!”

Derek licks around the head of his cock, and then sucks him down slowly. Stiles’ rabbiting on was endearing, but he’s ready to give him what he wants. He can see the faint outline of his teeth just above Stiles’ hip, and it makes something primal surge in his chest. He gets a hand around the base of Stiles’ cock, pushes down until his lips meet his fingers. Then he bobs his head up and down, laving his tongue against the pulsing vein on the underside of Stiles’ dick as he does so.  

Stiles makes gargling noises above him.

Derek pulls off, shushes him teasingly, “You want the whole party to hear you?”

“This isn’t going to last long,” Stiles huffs back, “I’m making the most of it while I can.”

“Is that a comment on your lack of a sex life recently, or should I take it as a compliment towards my sexual expertise?”

“How do you manage so many smart words when you’re giving me head?!” Stiles complains, “You _can’t_ be real.”

Derek snorts, takes Stiles back into his mouth and Stiles bashes his head back against the door again, clings to Derek’s hair.

It really doesn’t take him long before he’s tapping Derek’s shoulder, and Derek stands hurriedly, pushes him up against the door as he kisses him hard, keeps jerking him off until he comes between them.

“God,” Stiles breathes out, “Oh my _god_.”

Derek kisses him again, ruts up against thigh until Stiles smiles against his mouth, and shoves his hands up Derek’s shirt.

“You want me to return the favour?”

Derek shrugs, tries not to give away just how much he wants Stiles’ hands on him by the jerk of his hips.

Unfortunately, someone taps on the bathroom door just as Stiles is licking his hand, _obscenely_.

“I have to pee,” a girl shrieks, “And, someone is blowing chunks in the bathroom downstairs! Get out of there, assholes!”

“Damn,” Stiles mutters, “I really wanted to touch your dick again.”

“I’m glad you’re fond of it,” Derek retorts, tugging at his shirt and hoping he looks semi respectable.

Stiles catches the hem of his sweater, and yanks him in close, kissing him deep and filthy. Derek half stumbles into him, hands flying up to either side of Stiles’ head as he kisses him back fervently.

After more than a minute, the girl starts kicking the door, and Stiles pulls away laughing.

“Alright, alright, keep your panties on.”

“Like I could say the same to you,” the girl snaps as they open the door. She pushes past them impatiently, and Stiles jumps aside, accidentally steps on Derek’s foot.

Derek curls a hand around his elbow, steadying him, and Stiles beams up at him. The bathroom had been dark, and in the light from the landing he looks flushed, just a little fucked out and absolutely delectable. Derek debates asking him to come home with him.

Before he can, however, Scott and the redhead from the barbeque appear at the bottom of the stairs.

“Stiles!”

“Yo, man, what’s up?”

“Need a hand getting Isaac home, you free?”

“Yeah,” Stiles turns to them, runs a hand along Derek’s back as he passes, “Next one’s on me,” he mutters cheekily and then disappears down the stairs.

Derek bites down on a grin, walks home to avoid Erica’s interrogation as to why he still hasn’t gotten Stiles’ number.

*

Stiles enthusiastically repays him when they bump into one another at new year. Jackson’s family have houses everywhere, and he hosts a party that must cost at least as much as a year in college fees. Derek’s drink is in a crystal tumbler, and his coat was taken from him by a bored looking coatroom girl.

Stiles is leaning against the kitchen counter, cap on backwards and a laugh on his face. He catches Derek’s eye when he takes a sip of his beer, and his grin widens, expression pleased.

“You joining us for beer pong?”

Derek shakes his head, “Nope.”

“Better offer?”

“Yep.”

“Am I included in it?”

“Uh huh.”

“Cool,” Stiles winks at him, “Guess I’ll find you when I’m done kicking Whittemore’s ass, here.”

“Unlikely,” Jackson snorts, “This is _my_ house, Stilinski.”

“Fair enough,” Stiles holds his hands up, begins sliding up to Derek and pushing him out of the door. “I’ll let you have this one.”

“Don’t fuck in the master bedroom,” Jackson calls after them, “That one is mine, assholes!”

Stiles snickers into Derek’s shoulder, asks him how his holidays were as he drags Derek into an empty dining room.

“Fine,” Derek shrugs, “Family, you know.”

“Not really,” Stiles’ hands fall to Derek’s belt as he kicks out a chair from the table, manoeuvres Derek into it easily. “’S’just me and my dad, these days, and we get on pretty well.”

“That’s nice,” Derek manages, letting Stiles strip off his shirt. “I have four siblings, my mom’s sister and brother hate each other, my uncle hates everyone, lives to wind us all up.”

“You pretty easy to wind up?”

Derek pulls Stiles into his lap, winds his arms around his back and presses their mouths together.

“Not with him, with _you_ , though,” he drags his bottom lip between Stiles’ own, “You get under my _skin_.”

“Heh,” Stiles rocks down into him, laces his fingers together behind Derek’s head, “That… That is mutual.”

Derek arches an eyebrow, smirks, “Did you spend all of winter break pining?”

“Hey, fuck off; I spent all winter break studying! And you,” Stiles bends to kiss him softly, “You are my reward; my just deserves; my way to start the year with a good old fashioned bang.”

“Cheesy,” Derek reprimands, swivelling in the chair and propping Stiles on the table.

“True,” Stiles retorts easily, “Now, take your pants off, I wanna be one of those awkward people that when asked, says I was giving head at midnight. I mean, people’s faces,” he wiggles his eyebrows at Derek, “What you do at the strike of the clock is what you do all year.”

Derek nods frantically as he watches Stiles deftly remove his belt. It’s getting to be a familiar sight, and he’s not even close to being bored with it. He likes Stiles’ hands so very much, he likes that Stiles chatters between kisses, he likes the way Stiles tastes, and the way he never stops touching Derek, like he’s always discovering something new he wants to explore.

“We should get to a bed, at some point,” Stiles muses as he stretches out on the dining room table next to Derek.

Derek’s panting, still high from the incredible orgasm that came as the rest of the party counted down. Stiles had seemingly made it a personal mission to make sure Derek was coming on the strike of midnight, and he succeeded in messy, glorious style.

“Sure,” Derek wets his lips, tries to be somewhat cool about the idea of having Stiles for a whole night, being totally naked with him, learning what he looks like when he comes inside of Derek, or when Derek’s inside of him. “Okay.”

Stiles props himself up on one elbow, “I mean, if you’re into that.”

“What, sex?”

“ _Ha ha_ , I mean, like, with me. I don’t know,” Stiles sits up hurriedly and jumps off the table, seems suddenly panicked, “I don’t—I know this is casual, and we’re not even like… Facebook friends, but—”

Derek sits up after him, his stomach is knotting up uncomfortably, and he feels stupidly naked.

“We can be Facebook friends.”

“I didn’t mean,” Stiles’ face flushes, “God, I sound like a fucking  _ginormous_ idiot. I’m not being clingy, I know you haven’t even—I’m just gonna—”

“Stiles—”

“Never mind! We can do this again, I’ll just, keep quiet!”

Derek stands off the table, moves to step towards him, “I like it when you talk, though.”

“Guh,” Stiles falters at the door, gives him an unreadable look, “But, you never— you never said. I thought you were cool with things, how they were.”

“I am, I mean,” Derek shoves his hands in his pockets, frowns at him, “It’s good, it’s… casual and relaxed and… I’m not really very good at the other stuff, but, I could—”

“No,” Stiles cuts in, “I get it, it’s fine. Seriously. Sorry.”

And, then he’s leaving, and Derek’s half naked in the middle of Jackson Whittemore’s dining room, completely at a loss for what just happened.

*

“I found him on Facebook,” Erica tells him a week later.

Derek nods morosely, “So did I.”

“And, did you add him?”

Derek snorts, “After his insane breakdown where he panicked I was getting serious, and he wasn’t? _Sure_ , we’re playing bejewelled together as we speak.”

“That isn’t how the conversation played out, at all, Derek, and you’re lucky I love you because,” she flicks the side of his head, “ _So dumb_.”

“Hey,” he bats her hand away, “Leave me alone.”

“Na uh, we have drinks at _Selma’s_ , and you know I love the dj, there; he never talks, it’s beautiful; five uninterrupted hours of dancing.”

Derek groans, knows she won’t give up until he agrees, “ _One_ hour.”

“Two.”

“Fine,” he follows her out of the house, grumbling all the way to the car.

Boyd gives him a pitying look from the driver’s seat, “You smell like crap, couldn’t you have at least showered?”

“I don’t need to shower when I have no interest in leaving the house. It’s  _your_ girlfriend making me do things. Besides, you look like crap.”

“No, I don’t.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Erica chips in, “And, don’t take your bad mood out on _my_ boyfriend; he’s very generously being our designated driver for the evening so that you and I can get totally trashed.”

Alcohol does seem like a good idea, Derek muses. He could use a thousand shots to forget what Stiles’ laugh sounds like, or what his body felt like trembling and pressed up against Derek’s.

Alcohol also means, however, that when Derek’s stumbling back from the bathroom, he can’t even see through the blur of people to find Erica, and he can’t make his fingers work his phone.

“Need a little help there, nerd?”

Derek jumps out of his skin, and it must be dramatic enough to be comedic because Stiles had been giving him a serious look, but his lips twitch as he gazes at Derek.

“You,” Derek slurs out, “Can’t help me.”

“Sure I can,” Stiles shrugs, “Friends help friends all the time.”

“We’re not even f’book friendsh.”

“So,” Stiles slides an arm under Derek’s, helps him stand up straight, “We can just be real world friends.”

“Wanted to be more,” Derek sighs out, lolls his head to rest on Stiles’ shoulder, “I jusht wanted _you_. All variations of you! But, my hishtory,” he pats his chest hard, “My hishstory says I can’t.”

Stiles has been steadily leading him over to the exit, and Derek startles when the cold air hits his face outside.

“Shit, I don’t know where m’friendsh—” he looks around wildly, clutching at Stiles’ shoulder to help steady him.

“That’s okay,” Stiles presses his lips together, seemingly trying not to laugh again, and Derek scowls at him.

“You’re always laughing, it’s so—so—good.”

Stiles full on beams, and doesn’t say anything else, just takes Derek’s hand and leads him down the street.

“Where are we—where’we going?”

“My place,” Stiles catches him when he trips over his own feet, and they fall against the wall of a building. His eyes are just as wide and beautiful as ever as he looks at Derek, and Derek leans forward without thought, tries to kiss him.

Stiles ducks away and Derek’s heart sinks.

“Sorry, forgot.”

“You and I need to have a talk,” Stiles says firmly, “When you’re sober.”

“’Kay,” Derek agrees, happy to let Stiles lead the way, their fingers still entwined.

He can’t even remember what he felt sad about or why he was missing Stiles. Stiles is right here! Stiles is amazing.

“You’re’mazing,” he blurts out.

“So are you,” Stiles replies easily, opens a door that came from nowhere and helps Derek up a flight of stairs.

“’M’not, ‘m’stupid,” Derek argues, falls back onto something soft and groans in relief when he realises it’s a bed. “S’good, you haff a bed.”

“I’m pretty lucky, yeah,” Stiles tugs off his shoes. “I’m gonna go get you some water, don’t go anywhere.”

“ _Ha ha_ ,” Derek mutters, buries his face in Stiles’ pillow. It smells like him, and Derek wants to soak up everything he can while he’s still able to.

Stiles sets a glass down beside him some time later, hovers beside the bed, “So, I’m gonna go sleep on the couch.”

“How’d’you find me?” Derek interrupts, “I didn’t haff your number to tell you I was out, I would haff told you if I did.”

“I was out, too,” Stiles scratches the back of his neck, “I was kinda hoping to run into you.”

“Really?” Derek stares up at him, “Me?”

“Uh huh, I’m kind of fond of you.”

“You are? As a friend?”

“You think I make out with all my friends?”

“I dunn know, all my friendsh’are in rela’ships.”

“Some of mine are,” Stiles perches on the edge of the bed, pushes Derek’s hair out of his face, “But, that wasn’t what I meant.”

Derek squints at him, feels frustrated he can’t read Stiles’ tone, “I don’t know _what_ you meant, then.”

“I know,” Stiles snorts, goes to stand, “Get some sleep; we can talk in the morning.”

“No, stay,” Derek says suddenly, grabs Stiles’ hand.

“No, Derek, you’re really, _really_ drunk, like more drunk than that time in Danny’s garage.”

“ _Awesome_ time.”

“Yeah, it was, but I can just—”

“Please,” Derek huffs, tugs on Stiles’ hand again, “ _Please_.”

Stiles gives him a dubious look, and then sighs, tips his head back as he kicks off his sneakers, “Okay, but keep your hands to yourself! I have a weakness for them, and I’m already being _incredibly_ strong willed not kissing your drunk face, right now, okay?”

“Cosh I’m your friend?”

“Yeah,” Stiles snickers, slides into bed next to him and pats his cheek, “Sure, drunk Derek.”

“’’S’not my name.”

“ _Handsome historian_ ,” Stiles murmurs, traces his finger along Derek’s cheek before pulling his hand away and rolling over.

Derek wants to say something, wants to tell Stiles how he feels, but he falls asleep before he can form words.

He comes to with Stiles’ face inches from his own.

Stiles has always been attractive to him, but as he stretches awake, scrunches up his face and rubs his eyes, he’s down right adorable, _cute as fuck_ , Derek would say in his still slightly tipsy state. He can’t not take a chance, even if it means leaving sad and just a little broken hearted, he has to know if maybe he has a chance making this less than casual, a chance at keeping Stiles.

“Hey,” Stiles rasps, gives him a sleepy smile, “How you—”

“I want to ask you for your number, and take you to dinner,” Derek blurts out, “And, shit,” he sits up with a pained groan, “Where’s your bathroom?”

Stiles waves a hand behind him, and Derek lunges, making it to the toilet just in time to heave up his guts.

He hears Stiles pad in behind him, and he sighs, presses his forehead to the toilet seat.

“That wasn’t how I planned that to go, at all.”

“It wasn’t exactly the most romantic proposal,” Stiles agrees, and Derek can hear the laughter in his voice—the fucker.

“But,” Stiles’ feet appear next to him, and then he’s sitting down next to Derek, rubbing his back soothingly, “Just as soon as you’re done, here, I can find you a toothbrush and you can take me to breakfast. How’s that?”

Derek turns his head to the side, gives him a serious look, “Are we going as friends, or—”

“We’re going on a date,” Stiles snaps, “Because you are seriously hard to read unless you’re crazy drunk. And, I figured right from the start I was just someone fun to fool around with for you, that you didn’t want anything more, you never asked, so I never pushed. You got so narky with me at new year—”

“Because you said we were friends!”

“We’re not friends! We’ve never been friends; I have sucked your dick, dude, and I liked it. So, there. We’re not friends, we’re gonna be boyfriends, maybe, if you meant any of that drunken crap you rambled about me, last night and—”

“Meant all of it,” Derek interrupts, clumsily reaches for Stiles’ hand, “All of it.”

“Well, alright then,” Stiles deflates, crooks a grin at him, “Now I can say, yes, this is my handsome boyfriend, the history major.”

Derek rolls his eyes despite himself, half smiles, “We might crash and burn at breakfast.”

“Always a risk,” Stiles squeezes his fingers, “But, I figure, when someone’s interested you gotta at least take the leap.”

Derek squeezes his hand back, wets his lips, “I’m interested.”

“Cool,” Stiles leans forward and then grimaces, “I need to find you a toothbrush, and to text your friend Erica; she totally blew up your phone last night, I had to answer in the end.”

“Oh god,” Derek groans, “What did she say.”

“Oh, nothing much,” Stiles wiggles his eyebrows, “Just that you’re about as nuts for me as I am for you, so, you chose your actual friends wisely.”

Derek sighs, “I disagree, but, she had a point, about you, I am. I can never stop thinking about you.”

Stiles’ face softens, and he starts to lean in again before scowling, “Stop saying things that make me want to kiss you!” he chides, leaps up off the floor, “Shit, you’re keeping a toothbrush here permanently, just in case!”

Derek’s surprisingly okay with that kind of less than casual commitment.

 


End file.
